


Half A Handjob

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: First Time, M/M, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:24:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7814134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John isn't gay. Really. Except for Ringo. Kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half A Handjob

“Yeh, Paulie, I don’t know why Bri’s put us this way either.”

Paul pouted from across the hallway, liquid eyes even bigger and shinier now something he wanted was held out of his reach – the ‘something’ being sharing a room with his friend/adoptive-big-bro John, who was standing in the doorway shaking his head.

“But bags are all here, like,” John continued, a little too quickly, “so… maybe we can ask Bri to swap us tomorrow, or summat.”

“But Johnny…” Paul whined, and there came a shout from down the hallway.

“ _For God’s sake, boys, the sun is switched **off** , therefore it is **night**!_ ”

“Better not make him mad, like.” John raised his voice. “ _Don’t give the ragin’ queer a reason to march up here into our rooms_.” There was silence for a moment, and then a reply came, implying that John was more than capable of taking that suggestion and doing something very thematic with it. John grinned, and then shut the door, before collapsing against it, eyes wide as he stared at the man he shared the room with.

“Macca’s takin’ it well then,” Ringo noted from where he lay on the bed, and John sank down onto his, sighing. “Ah, lad. Yeh can share with him if yeh like…”

“No!” John’s reply was just a little too vehement, and it brought a grin to Ringo’s face as he watched the man flush a little. “I mean… like… there’s nothin’ bad about sharin’ a room with yeh…”

Here it came – the five minute struggle as John tried to protest to his own boyfriend that he wasn’t some kind of _gay_ , really, Ringo was _special_ , was all it was, probably a bird anyway… As John’s mouth wrapped around the first syllable of the word ‘fairy’, Ringo sat up, and leaned across the tiny room, and kissed him, and John forgot all about whether or not he was gay and remembered that he really quite liked Ringo. The kiss lasted until Ringo could feel John smile into it, and then they pulled back, both grinning at each other, a little pink-cheeked.

“Can I get in there?” he asked, a little loud as he slid his fingers over the covers on the hotel bed, and Ringo nodded, pulling the covers aside and letting John scramble in, wrapping himself around the drummer.             “…can I have another kiss?”

“Johnny, lad, I’m not stoppin’ you,” Ringo snorted, and John shuffled so his leg was draped over Ringo’s stomach, face nestled under his chin. “Yer a clingy lad, aren’t you?”

“Shut yer big nose,” John muttered, and Ringo began to stroke his back. He knew how this went, now. John would fall asleep like that, and Ringo a few minutes later, and then the next morning Brian – who was the only one they had trusted with their secret – would knock discreetly and let them pretend they had used more than one bed before Paul came bursting in. He loved it, to tell the truth – feeling John go from the wired, electrified child he was elsewhere to the warm, pliant man who would wake up occasionally to plant kisses along his jaw then fall back to sleep. It had only been a few weeks, but it was clearly doing him the power of good.

Sure, there was other things they could be doing, his crotch informed him, but John… John was very defensive about _that_.

John’s leg shifted a little lower as he got himself comfy at Ringo’s expense, and Ringo stiffened – literally – as John’s leg brushed his crotch. Well, he couldn’t help it, could he – contact was contact, and they’d been on tour for ages, and… nope. The justifications weren’t doing it. Well, he’d just have to fix it later – John came first, and making sure John felt comfortable was most important.

“Wha’s ‘at?”

Ringo wondered briefly if he could just become one with the mattress rather than deal with this.

“Lad… are… is that…?” John sat up, looking like he’d been awoken from the dead of sleep rather than having just lain down, and Ringo shrugged.

“Nothin’,” he said, a little desperately, and John looked down.

“Did my leg just give you a hard-on?” he asked, a little bewildered, and Ringo felt the situation slip away. John would bolt now – he’d bolted after their first kiss, he’d bolted after their first bed-sharing experience – he was definitely just about to make an excuse and vanish, probably to Paul’s room.

“I’ll swap with Paul,” Ringo muttered, and John reached out, gripping onto him.

“Lad…” he started, then swallowed nervously. “Uh…” Ringo watched in fascination. Was he about to get punched? What was happening, exactly? “I… like… I’m not _gay_ , alright, I…” The dull red flush on his face finally clued the drummer into what was happening, and he felt his stomach flip very slowly.

“Johnny, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he said quietly, and John flushed.

“I know that, yeh daft get,” he snapped, and Ringo grasped he’d been a little too forward. John had to believe _anything_ that happened was his idea. “I just… I mean… yeh… we’re…” He closed his eyes. “Ahh, I don’t wanna _say_ it, lad. ‘Boyfriend’ sounds like fairy language.”

John’s fascinating mental game of chess was really amazing to behold, Ringo thought privately. He’d have to beat himself up at some point for calling himself gay.

Then he realised John probably did, in private, and the thought was more than a little sobering.

“Johnny, just lie down, I’ll think about summat ‘til it goes away,” he said – his erection was still there, no doubt because John with ruffled hair was not entirely unpleasing to the eye – and John closed his eyes.

“I… look, can I touch it?”

That knocked Ringo for six, and he gaped a little.

“…Johnny, yeh don’t _have_ to.” John shook his head.

“But I _wanna_. I’ll probably hate it,” he said, in defiance of all probability, and Ringo gave up. The thought was a little daunting himself – he’d never… experimented with other lads either, but, he reasoned, if it really was awful, he could close his eyes and imagine a bird, and it wouldn’t count.

Then he looked at John, and realised he _really_ liked the idea of John touching him.

“Alright then,” he said lamely, and John exhaled, before closing his eyes and leaning forward to kiss Ringo again. All the tension seemed to leave the younger man’s body and pass over to the other – as soon as John’s hand landed on his thigh Ringo tensed.

“Are yeh okay?” John asked, and Ringo nodded. “What’s the matter?”

“I… eh, I don’t want yeh runnin’ off an’…” He heard as he spoke that his voice was a little weak – not through tears or anything _nearly_ as girly, but just pure nerves. “I…” He grabbed John’s wrist. “I’d rather you stayed, Johnny, and didn’t do this, than… tried it an’ ran off, like. ‘Cause I like you bein’ here.” John nodded slowly, and his hand stayed on Ringo’s thigh for a moment, before sliding across his pyjama pants and over the bulge at the crotch.

Ringo bit his lip, eyes closing a little, and John looked up to see that bright blue fixed on him as he ran his thumb over Ringo’s clothed erection. This wasn’t too bad, he thought; the strange feeling that he shouldn’t be doing this was spurring him on. He… well, Ringo was his, wasn’t he? It didn’t matter, his boyfriend, his partner, his… whatever, he was his, and so surely this was okay to do… maybe? Maybe he was overthinking it. He liked the way Ringo’s teeth sank into his lip, that was for sure.

“Is that… like…” He felt so absurd speaking that he just stopped. He knew what felt good, after all. Surely it was the same principle… he stroked a little more firmly, and as Ringo let out a faint moan through his teeth John felt himself get harder.

“Johnny,” Ringo murmured, and John realised he was shaking a little. This was… he didn’t know whether this was fear or arousal. “Johnny, lad…” John felt a little emboldened; he closed his eyes, and gently pulled down the front of Ringo’s pants, before risking a look.

That… it wasn’t actually too bad. He’d seen dicks before – living with four lads often meant you saw more than you ever wanted to, and Hamburg had been one long ‘oh shit sorry learn to lock your fucking door Christ’ – and this was really more of the same. He reached out, and wrapped his fingers around it – Ringo’s breath hitched, and John felt his stomach flip.

“Ey,” he said weakly, and Ringo looked up at him, eyes widened. “Uh… am I doin’ it right, like?” Ringo nodded, cheeks a little flushed, and John breathed in. “Uh… like… really?”

“It feels really good,” Ringo breathed, and John flushed, before focusing his attention back on the task at literal hand. He was enjoying this – birds were easy, you didn’t have to get them off, they just wanted poetry and stuff – but the way Ringo’s hips were lifting was getting him hard, and he felt another moment of panic before shoving that feeling as far down as he could. “Johnny…”

“Shut it,” John said, a little harsher than he intended – he just wanted to focus, and although Ringo moaning his name was getting him off a little more than he wanted it to, he still felt weird that it was a _man’s_ voice. Ringo stared at him, and John sighed, before taking his hands off him.

“I’m s-” Ringo was interrupted by John straddling him and kissing him, trying to pretend he didn’t feel his heart jackhammering in his chest. Their hips ground together and John had to stifle a moan into Ringo’s collarbone, feeling himself get harder. “J-John…”

“Quit _talkin_ ’,” John muttered, looking at Ringo with entirely new eyes. “I’m trynna concentrate.” He kissed Ringo’s neck, fingers stroking down his ribs, and then sat back up. “Uh… like, can I…”

“Touch me?” Ringo said a little too quickly, and John nodded, feeling his cheeks flush. “Uh, yeah, please. More.”

“I mean I know I ‘ave already, like…” John muttered, and then gave up. He had just basically given Ringo half a handjob. That was pretty gay. “Whatever. This… you’re special, right? I don’t like men. Just you.” He stopped, and then sighed. “Just you, like.”

“Thank you,” Ringo said quietly, and John leaned down, kissing him again, before shuffling back down to touch his erection again. “J-John…”

John bit his lip, and stroked him again, thinking about how he would do it to himself. This was all wrong, it was all _upside-down_ , like… He imagined how Ringo would touch him, and found himself moaning again, his semi-on thickening as he felt how badly he wanted that…

“John, lad.”

John opened his eyes, not even realising he’d shut them, and Ringo stared at him.

“Yer sort of… grindin’ on my leg, lad.”

“Stop callin’ me lad, it’s not affectionate,” John scowled, and hurriedly moved so he was straddling Ringo slightly more. “I’m… I was just…” Ringo raised an eyebrow, and John shrugged helplessly. “I was thinkin’ about you touchin’ me.” The deep rumble of a moan that came from Ringo’s throat made John gasp a little, and he resumed stroking him. “Yeh like that?” A smirk crossed his face. This was a little more familiar. “Yeh like the thought of touchin’ me?”

“Yeah…” Well, that was better, at least. Ringo was just as into this.

“What else do you want?” John asked, eyes dark and fixed on the drummer who was splayed out beneath him, and Ringo shook his head.

“Whatever you want,” he said, and John bit his lip. Exactly what did he want? What was the next step from a handie when you were playing the bird’s role? Well… a blowie. But he really… really wasn’t sure he was okay with that.

“Well… what do you want…?” he said unsurely, and was surprised when Ringo grabbed him and pulled him closer for a kiss, fist still tight around his erection. He kept going as Ringo kissed him, and then froze as he felt Ringo’s hand slide under his pyjamas. “Uh…!”

Ringo froze as well, and John realised what had been going through Ringo’s mind – how nervous he was too, and exhaled slowly, before resuming the kiss and his stroking. He wanted Ringo to know that it was okay – even if he wasn’t too sure it was. He wanted it to be okay. He wanted it to be okay with Ringo. Ringo’s hand moved only after he was sure that John was okay with it – something that made John’s heart flip a little – and then he felt his fingers on his erection, and realised that he was very, very okay with it.

“Tell me. If you wanna stop, l- John.” Ringo’s voice was deep – deeper even than normal, and John felt tingles down his spine at it. “I…” Another moan overtook his words, and John sped up a little, watching Ringo in fascination as he did so. His eyes were hooded as John caressed him, blue sparkling in the slits under his lids as he watched him, jaw dropped a little, and as he panted John wondered, idly, if Paul would overhear and figure out just _why_ he didn’t want to share the room with him.

“Does that… am I doin’ it right?” he asked awkwardly, and Ringo nodded without a word, hips arched just a little. “Like… really?”

“Faster,” was Ringo’s only reply, and John sped up again, watching for signs that he was doing it right. He had never appreciated Ringo’s chest before, but as Ringo’s fingers lay draped across it, muscles tensing as John touched him, he realised just how… nice it was. He liked that chest a lot.

 _Fuck_. Maybe he was a bit of a fairy. Then he realised exactly what he was doing, and took a deep breath in. If being a fairy meant he got to do this more, he was alright with that.

“John…” Ringo’s voice had an edge of warning to it, and John bit his lip, concentrating on how that voice sounded. There was so much want to it, a want and a _need_ for him, that he couldn’t remember hearing in anybody’s voice, that he felt himself gasp. Ringo had stopped stroking him, but he couldn’t remember when, hands just loosely down his pants, and as he tightened his grip just a little Ringo’s hips bucked. “Johnny, I-”

John winced as he felt Ringo spill over his hand, and looked away – this was pretty unpleasant. Not enough to put him off, he thought hastily as Ringo moaned his name loud enough to cause his heart to skip, and he put his clean hand over his mouth.

“Lad, shut it!”

Ringo relaxed against the bed, and John lifted his hand away, eyes wide as he waited for Ringo to reply, to say… whatever.

“…l-lad’s not affectionate, _you_ said,” Ringo replied shakily after a moment, and John laughed before looking at his hand and grimacing, wiping it on the bedsheets. “That’s my bed!”

“Sleep in mine,” John said, and Ringo removed his hand from John’s pants to push himself to sitting and tidy himself up a little; John whined a little, almost unknowingly, and Ringo stared at him. “Hey, lad, it’s my turn…”

“Really?” Ringo asked carefully. “Like… yeh… that wasn’t too…” John kissed him again, and realised through the rush of nervousness that it wasn’t. Not with Ringo. Then he pushed the drummer back down, and straddled him again.

“Yer not gettin’ away with that,” he said easily, and Ringo smiled, pupils blown. “Now, lad. What’re yeh gonna do about this?” He pointed to his crotch, and then winked. Maybe… maybe this was okay. Maybe it was better than okay… then Ringo slid his hands into his pyjamas again, and John decided to stop thinking.


End file.
